The Worst Thing About Christmas
by greenlegsandspam
Summary: I know this has been done loads before, but I wanted to explore the idea of how Ron and Hermione might cope with being trapped by mistletoe. OOTP/Fifth Year Christmas.


As if nothing else could put a worse dampener on the day, Hermione's luck completely ran out at 6pm on a Friday. The Friday before the last Saturday Hogsmeade trip before Christmas. Not only had her period come that day, Malfoy thrown an entire bottle of Indelible Ink over her head, soaking her hair and staining her clothes. To add to the trauma, Peeves had decided that stealing her bag and emptying it from over the top floor staircase bannister would be highly amusing. After using _tergio_ on herself to fix her inky hair and _reparo_ on her possessions, Hermione hoped that the slightly delayed trek back to the common room would be slightly more peaceful. She was not in luck, for at 6pm, Ronald Weasley did something despicable.

Instead of offering a helping hand like any sane human might, Ron snatched one particular item from Hermione as she struggled with her partially destroyed contents of her bag on the floor, having fallen a great height from the highest moving staircase. He had come out of nowhere, and made Hermione start.

"Ronald!"

He was holding an artistically folded piece of parchment that Hermione recognised to be a letter she had received that morning. It had been delivered by an elderly, faint looking owl which had landed in her cereal bowl upon arrival, a sure sign that her day was not going to be the bright and happy one she had hoped. Ron also looked very chuffed with himself. He had finally got a decent grade in Transfiguration. On a good day, she would have congratulated him, but the fact that she had pretty much written his essays for him herself and her morning had been depressing in every way, she had treated him particularly coldly. Harry hadn't noticed; he was too busy dwelling on how to organise the DA, and so he ignored the two of them as they ignored each other.

She snatched at the letter, but her being under six foot and he being well over made it impossible for her to reach. He grinned from ear to massive ear as he flapped it aloft his head.

"Ron, Ron! Ro- oh, for Christ's sake, Ronald, give it back!"

"Who's Christ?" He smiled as she attempted to drag his arm down to a reachable level, "Oh, the Christmas guy. More importantly, who is this love letter from? A special someone?"

"No!" Hermione hissed as she dragged her pile of books and quills from the floor and shoved them into her satchel, "it's just a letter from Viktor wishing us all a Merry Christmas..."

"Viktor! So it _is_ a love letter," Ron mocked comprehension and lifted the flap of the already opened fold to the parchment. He began to scan the letter as Hermione fumed, bright eyes darkening as he read. Hermione gave up trying to get it back, as there was no point. Ron did this to himself. He knew he wouldn't like what he read but he tortured himself anyway for some unknown reason. It was like he hated the very ground Viktor walked on.

"Every time," she rolled her eyes, angry but too tired to fight. Hermione walked away and left him with what happened to be rather a bland letter from her stoic correspondent. He could hear his slow steps following her as she trotted up the staircase smartly. She was not bothered if he read it, for it was boring. It truly was; Viktor mostly just recited his dull daily schedule. Occasionally he would mention a friend or two, and described an awkward encounter with a duck on his broom. If anything, it was pretty standard. He was the type to forget to ask questions about her own life, but greatly valued her response to his. "I guess he didn't _duck_ in time," Ron sniggered to himself from a few steps behind, responding to Viktor's letter in such a way that would have normally made Hermione want to laugh, even though she would have never shown it.

She took two steps at a time up the staircase, hoping it wouldn't move before she got to the next floor.

Hermione heard his long strides quicken. He caught up with her, brandishing her letter, a look of horror on his face.

"Still? He's still writing to you? Like this?" Even Ron was appalled by the poor quality of the literature. If he had not developed a problem with Viktor, he would probably be clutching it to his chest like a crazed fan.

" _'I hope you are doing well_ '," he read, disgusted, " _'because I am, and it would be sad if you were sad,'_ \- he's got a real knack with the lingo here- _'my coach says that I must always put my mental health first when training, for it could otherwise increase chances of stressing.'_ This is the most boring letter I have ever read. And," he continued, a small smile creeping onto his already conflicted face, "with which brain cell is he stressing? The one at the front of his brain telling him to eat and sleep or the one at the back that reminds him to wipe his-"

"RON, I AM SEVERELY NOT IN THE MOOD." Hermione turned on her heel and met his eyes: he was two steps below her and he was still at the same level as her. His little smile began to shrink. He stared at her, hands on her hips, hair out of control and shirt bunched up around her waist. He mouthed empty words. Guilt, nerves and something else began to seep into his head. Something that this was not the time for.

"WHAT?" She roared, but he looked down at the letter, having become far less confident all of a sudden.

"Quidditch has gone to his head," said Ron quietly. She huffed but he continued, "I don't know how you put up with it."

"How- what?" Hermione looked confused.

"Well," Ron faltered, "I mean, he's not asked you one thing apart from... well, when he makes it about himself."

Hermione frowned and snatched the letter out of Ron's limp hands.

"Rubbish," she dismissed, rereading the letter she'd already drafted a mental response for. Ron, alarmingly, was right, and she didn't like that. She began ascending the stairs, Ron following hesitantly. Then, the staircase moved.

"Oh, great," Hermione hissed as she grabbed for the stone banister by her side. Ron's hand was already there, and her little finger brushed against his knuckles. She cringed and withdrew her hand again. He noticed this and retracted his too, a little sadly.

"This is just wonderful. And by the way," she turned around and glared at him, "thank you for making my already dreadful day even worse. And _this_ ," she jabbed a finger at the end of the staircase floating to the right, "is really the icing on the cake," she muttered. The staircase swayed to a stop at an entrance to a floor Hermione had only been in once, and by accident. It was that godawful corridor they'd found fluffy at the end of.

"Crap," she said under breath. If she had said it any louder she would be able to hear Ron's thoughts in her head saying something along the lines of _'oooh, naughty word, Hermione, you're going wild_ '.

Ron was weirdly silent, now stood next to her. He knew which corridor this was, too. He took a few long steps up to the landing and said "it's okay, they've opened that passage up behind the the jester juggling porcupines now. It's a decent shortcut back to the common room."

"Ron, they closed it off because people kept setting traps in there. Your brothers included... I don't think it's wise-"

"Traps for first years, remember. I'm sure two fifth years wouldn't fall for anything that obvious. You have to be really dim to walk straight into a sticky jinx, it's pretty blatant from the green mist, isn't it? Anyway, they've purged it all out now. Here, give me your bag, I'll take it for you." He held out an arm. She eyed him suspiciously.

"As a peace offering?"

It was heavy, so she conceded. They walked warily through into the dark main corridor, casting around for a sign of the painting of the jester in immense pain as he juggled lots of spiky animals.

"Are you sure it's along here?" Hermione felt the chill from the drafty doors and wished she hadn't taken her jumper off from underneath her robes.

"Yep, it's one of those passages that are hidden so that not everyone uses it, especially not for... well, things it shouldn't be used for."

"Yes well, that's not going to happen, is it?" Hermione replied hotly, "I wish it'd just show itself!"

Ron pushed back a dusty tapestry with both hands and began feeling around in the darkness for a painting. "Can you grab my wand from my pocket, Hermione?"

Hermione laughed. "Sorry?"

Ron realised what it had sounded like and began spluttering. He chuckled at his own idiocy and said "I need light!"

Then, they heard a faint " _ouch_!" And an " _ooh_!". Hermione looked up for Ron, and saw him smiling in the dark.

"Found him!"

Ron swung the painting door open as they watched an obscured, striped man shrieking and dropping porcupines. It made Ron wonder why he still bothered. It would certainly be an excellent party trick if he could manage it without catching the parts of the animal spines, but the few times he'd taken this way back the poor jester had never succeeded.

Hermione stopped to ask it a question.

"There's nothing horrible down there, is there?"

The jester paused, grinned and shook his head. "For once," he sighed, "It's ever so pleasant," and then he winked. Hermione's eyes widened. When she turned back to Ron, she looked horrified.

As they lit their wands and stepped through, she said "he winked! What's that supposed to mean?"

Ron rolled his eyes. It was probably nothing; the jester was, after all, a jester. When he wasn't destroying the palms of his hands with the porcupines he was telling rubbish jokes and making horrible innuendo. "It means he's bored of trying to do the same shoddy trick and he'd like to wind up some innocent little girl for a change."

"Who are you calling little, Ron?" Hermione stuck her wand in his face. Her eyebrows were raised. He grinned.

"You're short, what can I say?"

They took slow steps down the narrow corridor, Ron first, Hermione tiptoeing after. Ron looked up and prodded his wand at something above him, casting light over the ceiling and hangings.

"Any idea what this is supposed to be?"

He asked. Hermione shook her head, but then looked harder. It was a small sprig of golden holly that had been surrounded by a wreath, hanging down above them.

"It's not one of the twins' things is it?" She asked. Ron shook his head.

"I'd know it if it was." He gave it another prod. It shivered slightly and then relaxed. Thin, sparkly dust fell from it and Ron, standing directly underneath, got most of it all over him, making him sneeze. "Ergh, what in Merlin's name...?" He looked at the shimmering silver dust on his shoulders. It decorated him like snow. Hermione looked worried.

"I think we should keep going," she brushed some off his shoulders. Ron nodded and tried to shake most of the dust off, though some still clung to his robes and hair. Hermione lead the way, casting her wand light around the corridor. It was pretty much like any other secret passage; dusty, plain and shallow in height. It somehow echoed slightly, but that was likely due to the length of it. She couldn't see the end. Nor could she hear Ron's footsteps behind her. She turned around and saw him stood, struggling to move past a certain point, as if he was trying to find the way around an invisible wall.

"What are you doing?"

"Well, I'm stuck, so if you can imagine what that might feel like, I am reacting appropriately."

Hermione groaned and pointed her wand at him. " _Finite incantatem_ ". Nothing. Ron tried to push against the invisible wall. Still nothing. He felt around in the air as she waltzed back to him.

"If you're having me on, I'm going to slap you into next week," she growled, but he shook his head frantically. It looked like he was trapped in a cage of sorts, as he could move his feet but not past what looked like an invisible circle drawn around him. He looked up. "It's that bloody plant thing."

Hermione was now next to him.

"You mean, that innocent little decoration has trapped you?" She scoffed and looked at it. He gritted his teeth.

"Actually, Hermione, I thought I'd dance around here like a prat for a few minutes whilst I let you walk off to the common room." Hermione was angry now.

"Well, why don't you try, I don't know, killing it or something?"

"You mean you don't know what the bastard thing is?"

"No I do not, Ronald! In the five years of Herbology not once have I come across a Christmas decoration that traps you underneath it-oh!" She gasped as she looked at it. Was it mistletoe that surrounded the golden holly in a wreath? Because if so it had been painted silver and arranged in such a way that made it almost unnoticeable. She'd seen people fiddling with little pieces of mistletoe in ancient runes: people would buy a sprig of the silver parasite and break off a branch (though it was probably banned by Umbridge by now). Supposedly, one would hold it over someone's head to trap them. She'd ignored the Slytherins who had been tampering with it before, which she now deeply regretted. She'd know what to do if she'd listened in... although she already had an inkling as to what might be the solution, because she had heard Malfoy say he refused to "kiss that Mudblood, don't you dare Blaise."

"What?"

"Someone's jinxed the mistletoe, Ron." She winced at the look on his face. He was red and furious. He looked between her and the horrible little plant which seemed to be giggling to itself. He swore loudly.

"How do we solve it?"

Hermione deliberated about telling him her theory. She could feign ignorance and get someone who actually felt comfortable kissing Ron to do the honours, or she could just tell him. Both were horrible ideas. She would do it, sure, if it was not one of her closest friends. They weren't exactly good with this sort of thing, especially not actually admitting that this was more than what they could cope with.

"Get me out!" He looked at her desperately, pointing his wand at it and firing spells at it. It deflected every single one. Hermione tried pulling his arms, pushing him and even trying to knock the decoration down, but it tinkled happily as the chaos below unfolded.

"Right," she said, exhausted and irate. "Take your robes off."

"What?!" Ron seethed, his ears glowing red from embarrassment.

"The dust is on your robes, right?"

"I'm not getting naked."

"You don't have to! Just your cloak and jumper!"

"Oh right, ok..." he shed his cloak and handed it to her. She took it cautiously by the hem as to avoid the evil shimmering dust. The mistletoe had obviously been drenched in the stuff. Fine though it was. She could see it on almost every inch of the outside of his robes, so she held it by the hanger loop inside and cast a levitation spell so she didn't have to hold it. Off came his jumper next (she pointedly looked somewhere else as his shirt came up slightly) and he made it float next to the cloak. He looked at her nervously. Ruffling his hair to free some extra glitter particles. He took a tentative step forwards.

"I'm free!" He cried and threw his arms up in victory. Hermione grinned and went to return the high-five he held up for her, but her arm wouldn't reach: she was stuck now and he wasn't.

"OH FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!" Ron bellowed and thrust a threatening finger at the little wreath. Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but he continued. "YOU ARE THE ABSOLUTE WORST THING ABOUT CHRISTMAS!"

"Ron!" She waved her arms around, "Ron, look at me!" He did. He looked really disappointed. "I'm sorry Hermione, I didn't think it'd trap you or I wouldn't have moved."

"Ron, listen, I think I know what we have to do. I brushed some dust off your shoulders, and then I stood underneath it. The powder must have landed on me."

"Okay, well, erm, have you tried to get it off?"

Hermione shook herself down to no effect. She tried casting aguamente on her hands but she still couldn't get past the stupid invisible barrier. It clung onto her skin like

nothing she'd ever seen .

"There must be another way of getting out of this, surely!" Ron exclaimed, running anxious hands through his hair.

"Well," Hermione said hesitantly, "It's mistletoe, remember," she gave him a look which told him he should be picking up on a hint. He remembered his parents putting it up above the front door at the Burrow so they had an excuse to kiss every time one of them came home-

"Nooo," Ron gawped, "really?"

Hermione straightened up, having cowered slightly at breaking it to him. "Indeed."

"Well," Ron blushed, "it's not that bad I suppose! I'm glad it's you and not Harry." They laughed nervously and Hermione rocked on the balls of her feet.

"And you're sure?"

"Ron," Hermione grimaced, "we have tried literally anything we could think of."

Ron considered the situation. Truthfully, the more he considered it, the more he enjoyed the idea. It was Hermione. After realising at the Yule Ball the previous year that she was, in fact, a girl, he had considered this fact more and more, and perhaps he had noticed that Hermione had been doing the same in acknowledging that he was male, and not just a silly child. He had caught her once or twice looking at him a certain way, and he had often been made too many glances her way to go unnoticed. They laughed at the things the other said, and found a mutual ground somehow. It was not forced, and Ron couldn't help but find this more and more attractive.

He stepped forwards to make himself accessible, though cringed intensely as she stared, terrified. "Come here then," he laughed. Her face changed from fright to indignation in a split second, but he could see a little smile. "Oh, alright then, Casanova!"

Ron snorted. "Do you want to get out of this corridor or not?"

"You're so utterly charming," she said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"What, you want me to get down on one knee?"

"Just get it over and done with."

"Now look who's the hopeless romantic..." he opened his arms in a gesture for her to join him. "It'll be like when we hug but just a little more awkward than it already is."

Hermione laughed and walked up to him. "Come here and I'll hug you first to make it less painful for you," he joked, trying to be as chivalrous as possible, even though his insides were burning and he could see the colour was high on her cheeks. Seeing her flushed didn't help anything. Bloody uncomfortable.

He wrapped his long arms around her and felt her shaking slightly. Was it really that awful to kiss him?

"I'm glad it's you and not Harry as well," she muttered into his shoulder, "I don't know if you've ever seen him eat spaghetti but it's off-putting." Now it was Ron's turn to laugh. It wasn't that bad kissing him, then.

"Ok, let's do this then," she said with a nervous exhalation, and he did. It wasn't anything that crossed boundaries, no inappropriate hands or anything overzealous. He just leaned down, put a hand on the back of her neck and kissed her for a few seconds. Respectfully. Hermione did not react, but felt the silver dust particles on both of them begin to lift off their skin, suspended in the air.

Ron drew away slowly and noticed that they were now surrounded by a cocoon of dust. It was ever so slowly floating upwards. He grinned. "I think we did it," he smiled, his voice weak. Hermione nodded and regarded the scene curiously. He still held her gently. She smiled. "Thanks, Ron."

She had kissed him one other time in their lives, and it had been on his cheek. This time, the thrill was far more intense and cemented her in his arms, as if she never wanted to move again. It was a revelation: is this what she wanted? Is this what he wanted?

"We shouldn't tell Harry about this... he'd rip us to shreds," Ron suggested. Seeing the deflated look on her face, he added "not that it wasn't enjoyable."

"That's fair enough," she agreed, "no one would let us live it down, especially not him or your family." They knew who they were thinking of: his mother and the twins.

"Mum would cry. She'd plan the wedding and all." They both looked alarmed at the mere thought. "Come on, people will get ideas if we don't get back before dinner." Hermione siphoned the rest of the dust from Ron's levitating robes, just in case the magic it held hadn't worn off. The hand he had on her neck previously went to her shoulder and she led the way through the secreted little tunnel back to the common room. They avoided eye contact like anyone would, but walked with less space between them than usual.

Fred knew. He must have known. As soon as they walked in past the Fat Lady his ears seemed to perk up and he nudged Lee Jordan and George who were fiddling with a skiving snackbox that had glued itself shut. Hermione had neatened herself up to an obsessive degree and Ron had suddenly distanced himself from her. He noticed his brothers staring and mouthed ' _what_?' but they merely shrugged. Just as they strode past them to the fireplace where Harry sat puzzling over a chart from Trelawney, Fred stood up and called "Hermione!"

They both froze like rabbits in front of a fox. Fred grinned. "You've got a bit of dust just there," and he gestured at the side of his nose. She glanced at Ron who gave her a startled look of recognition. Hermione scrubbed at her nose with her sleeve and walked away to sit with Harry. Ron looked at Fred who said "the Juggling Jester and I are good friends."


End file.
